High School, Pandolor, and Rock, Paper, Old Reliable

I don’t want to waste any time or space or bore you to death with my increasingly worsening story telling without first explaining something very important to you first. I promise there will be time for Gregorio in Wonderland after I get this off my skinny little chest.

In the 12 years that La Peña has had a school only 18 students have graduated from the 9th grade. For more reasons than I could possibly have time to write and explain, I decided not only was this number extremely low, but also realized that these graduates have had no educational opportunities since they left school.

The problem here in La Peña is pretty simple, really. We are 29 kilometers outside of our nearest pueblo, Metapán, and there is absolutely zero public transportation. We, as a community, only have transportation on Mondays at 6 AM or on Fridays at 6 AM; nothing in between. No student from La Peña has ever gone to high school before due to this overwhelming distance, lack of transportation, and, most important of all, money. It literally has just never been a possibility for them.

Now the kind of high school I am talking about here is not what you folks back home are thinking of. The particular classes that I was interested in are Distance Learning and only have classes once a week, on Saturday, from 7:30 AM to 3:30 PM. They study Language Arts, Computers, English, Math, Science, Social Studies, and people of the opposite gender (this is Latin America, remember). Although far from perfect, this system gives an incredible opportunity to people who live in the campo, in very rural areas, who at a young age are forced to work every day of the week in the corn fields or in the kitchen. Distance Learning was created exactly for us, for them.

So I started asking questions. I set up a meeting with the director of Rodrigro Leiva School, Don Roberto, in Metapán and between the two of us tried to work out some possibilities. After a few meetings in La Peña with all graduated students and their parents I knew that this project had to get off the ground immediately. I had 11 of 18 possible graduates up in arms with excitement about going back to school and I wanted more than anything to help them achieve this. I called Don Roberto that night and asked him a favor: although the school year had already started three weeks ago, could he please admit 11 students from La Peña to Leiva?

When I was a senior in high school I didn’t think I was going to go to college because I just didn’t think it’d be possible. I met questions about college with about as much forced apathy as most of the graduates from La Peña did saying things like ‘No, I am not going to college. I just don’t think I want to,’ when in reality I wanted nothing short of that. Then a little birdy named Hegarty sat me down daily and demanded I fill out Financial Aid forms, bypassed a few college application fees, and told me that despite what I lack, I should still get a chance to give this whole ‘learning how to read good’ thing a shot. Without help like her, I’d probably be working at Chubbies Liquors, playing scratch tickets, and hoping one day to finally be able to request a decent song on JAMN 94.5.

And look at me now!!! – poorer than I have ever been, living in one room brick shack, bathing with river water, and mowing my lawn with a machete. All that made possible with the help from people who told me I deserved a shot even when I probably didn’t. Ain’t I just livin’ the American Dream?

But seriously, I genuinely believe these young guns deserve their opportunity to get out of La Peña, continue learning, reading, maturing, learn a skill, meet a nice boy or girl that isn’t their first or second cousin, and hopefully move back to La Peña to take care of their parents and become the President, Vice President, Treasurer, Secretary, and/or Vocales of the ADESCO.

When I brought the students into Leiva on Monday the 14th of February Don Roberto looked each one of them in the eye and said (allow me to paraphrase):

‘This is not going to be easy. You have already missed the first 4 classes, the first two lessons. Do you understand me? I don’t ask for perfection, I ask for ganas. Gregorio has spoken on your behalf, has offered his help. Now it’s up to you guys. If you don’t feel up for it, feel free to tell me, do not be shy. This is a serious commitment and needs to be approached as such. If you have any doubts you better put them away right now because in my desk I have a whole lot of papers for you to sign. If I didn’t have faith in you, I wouldn’t have asked you to come here today. So what do you say? (My students say absolutely nothing. Crickets try their hardest to conquer the silence at 9:30 AM) Alright! Let’s get started!’

Even though the Distance Learning Classes were at capacity, Don Roberto did me, did us, this huge favor and stuck his neck out to allow our 11 students into Leiva. He made an extra trip to the capital, San Salvador, to meet with the Director of Education there and bring all the necessary documents from our students out of the goodness of his heart. He did us an enormous favor and it is because of kindness from people like this that we were able to start this project.

So there you have it, damas y caballeros. The first 11 high school students ever out of La Peña.

That is not the end of this fable, though. I forgot to tell you that this was all just a really poorly written solicitude to you, my incredibly unfaithful audience, to help me raise some money.

This whole process would not have been possible without the help of two very generous donations from family friends. With these donations I have paid for uniforms, lesson plans, notebooks, classes, food, and transportation for the first few months. Unfortunately, these students won’t graduate within the next few months so I will need to continually fundraise to keep this project going. All in all it costs about $225 a month for these 11 students to graduate from high school but the future possibilities are astounding. One of my best friends, and one of the most intelligent and dedicated English students I have, Antonio, never graduated from high school here in La Peña. I asked him why and he said because you don’t really learn anything between 6th and 9th grade and his hard work was more valuable in the fields. What a shame, really, that they had such a glass ceiling. This sentiment isn’t felt by just Antonio, its felt by everyone in the community. Last year only three students graduated from 9th grade in La Peña, all girls, because people do not see any importance of graduating from the 9th grade when papi needs two extra hands to plant corn. What could they have really done past 9th grade before this? Nothing. It’s a damn shame that kids like Antonio have to cut themselves so short. I am hoping this project not only boosts the graduation rate because students can look forward to going to high school every year, but maybe even puts pressure on La Peña’s terrible school director to better teach these kids in order to better prepare them for high school. We will see.

So what I am asking is this: If you are feeling overly generous, slightly altruistic, deep pocketed, thirsty, kind, funny in the tummy, light headed, in love, cold, tired, buzzed, or just want to donate please, please, please contact me at gregcormier17@gmail.com. The amount doesn’t matter. You could send a check for a million dollars or use the US Postal Service to mail down a jar of pennies; anything and everything will be a huge help.

This is the first real project that I have done that I am genuinely, head over heels in love with. I want nothing more than to see La Peña’s future in the hands of the educated youth. I have already created a bank account for all the funds and within a short time will be appointing a Directive from this group of 11 students. Hopefully within the next year and a half I will have a new bank account created where one or two members of the community can be in charge of the monthly fees and can take care of the bill paying after I am gone.

So what do you say? Can you help me out? Can you spread the word? This donation will absolutely not be tax deductable, and it probably won’t turn bad karma around (if you’ve got any) but any little tiny donation will help immensely. Please keep us in mind and the begger in me is asking that you do not be shy, feel free to pass this information on to anyone you think may be interested. Yeah, just go ahead and do that.

On top of that, my application for a new $1300 project was approved by USAID to replace my very porous school roof with a much more durable, longer lasting, and sexier metal roof. Maybe now my students will stop coming to class with shampoo and towels.

Story time.

My buddy Gabe asked me ‘Who goes on vacation just to continue working?’

So for the past two and a half weeks I have been in Nicaragua helping and hindering a group of doctors and Tufts medical students run clinics in rural communities.

Here are some very true stories (with some not-so-true exaggerations) that made me realize I wasn’t in Kansas anymore.

In the two and a half weeks that I was in Nicaragua I ate approximately 5 tortillas.
-----Here in El Salvador I eat at least 5 tortillas per meal. I never, ever, ever (ever) thought that I would miss these little flavorless disks of lovin’ but I sincerely did. The 5 that I ate in Nicaragua I had to specifically ask for. Nicaraguans apparently prefer to eat things with an upside to them, like rice, fruits, and vegetables. Those damn quacks.

People and dogs alike laughed themselves into convulsions when I fleetingly yelled ‘Shhhhh, chucho’ to get the mutts out of the kitchen. I didn’t understand why all the women left the kitchen blushing while the dogs stared at me blankly.
-----The Spanish word for dog is ‘perro.’ I have not called a dog a ‘perro’ in the 13 months that I have been pretending to know Spanish. That word is foreign to me and absolutely does not exist in my lexicon. Here in El Salvador, we lovingly refer to dogs as ‘chuchos.’ Well, I learned the hard way that in Nicaragua ‘perro’ is the word for dog and that ‘chucho’ is a vulgar word for vagina. I was never really allowed back in the kitchen after Day 1.

On our way out to Rosa Grande from Siuna I was chitting and chatting with Don Margarito and Albita about traveling and telling them about how I hadn’t brought much for this trip. Albita almost threw up into the box of eggs she was carrying and Don Margarito damn near drove off the rode in raucous, over-the-top laughter when I said ‘Yo no cargo mucho.’
-----Before figuring out what was so funny, we decided to take advantage of Margarito crashing into a ravine by washing off all the eggs that Albita has thrown up on in the crook that we ended up in. After all 250 eggs were sparkling clean, the two Nicaraguans explained to me that they heard me say ‘Yo no cago mucho.’ Apparently they did not understand my use of the verb ‘cargar’ which means to carry. They thought I used the verb ‘cagar’ which means to take a shit.

Most confusing of all, though, was how Harry threw his arms to the sky as if to thank dios for his most incredible bendición yet when I told him that I didn’t want to bother him: ‘No te quiero chingar, hombre.’
-----Long story short, Harry is a wise-ass from Bluefields and one of the most animated people you could ever meet. He did not waste the opportunity to make fun of me when I told him that I didn’t want to have sex with him. Chingar in El Salvador: To Bother. Chingar in Nicaragua: To Bang.

Those are just a few examples of how I made a complete ass of myself in my short time in Nicaragua.

These laughers aside, Nicaragua was a truly unbelievable experience. A close family friend, Brian Lisse, invited me to work with him and his 10 medical students running clinics in rural Northern Nicaragua. In those two weeks I met some of the most ridiculous, inspiring, and beautiful people I could have possibly hoped for. And the med students were alright, too.

Clinics were great. I spent from 730 AM til about 4 PM every day pretending to speak Spanish. The students’ job was to diagnose each patient that came into the clinic. My job was to act very confident being an intermediary between the patient and the student/soon to be doctor. I learned a lot of unbelievable things about PanDolor, Wei Wei taught me how to stitch people, Sharad taught me how to talk to mothers about their pandolorian babies, Sarah definitely taught me that headaches, kidney pain, and lazy eyes are all signs of Raging Cervicitus and that I should immediately ask all women if they are sexually active and to please remove their clothes, Cho taught me that kids gummy vitamins are an incredible way to avoid scurvy in the campo, and Rebecca taught me what a good ear drum looks like and then what a bad, shrapnel filled ear drum looks like and then proceeded to up the excitement by allowing me to clean out his compacted earwax into a sandwich baggy. The students were unbelievable.

One Friday we decided that we wanted to eat pig. Enough of this rice and beans bologna (or is it bolonie?, balony?). Lets eat some meat!

So Harry and I wrestled a pig away from some local man, brought him back to the house and decided, with a really intense look in our eyes, that it was time, as Harry would say, ‘to slice up this haaaag.’ We had a problem, though. Both Sharad and I wanted to kill the pig. Only one person can kill a pig at a time (I learned that from Don Luis, the Sandista) so Sharad and I settled the argument the civilized way: Rock, Papers, Scissors, best two out of three. After a lengthy battle, a series of 5 straight where no one threw anything but scissors, we found ourselves tied at one. 10 battles down, and we were only tied 1 to 1. I started to feel the pressure. I was up big, 1-0, and I let the lead slip away. I had to get my head back in the game. I did a couple jumping jacks, stretched out my hammies, and gave the pig a quick glance. He seemed to look at me as if to say ‘Buen provecho, Goyo. It’s time to eat’ and I knew that he was mine. Sharad and I gave each other a nod, it was on…

‘Rock!!!! Paper!!!! Scissors!!!!....’ time seems to stand still, everything moving in slow motion. My body starts to relax, my mind goes blank, I think about how funny it was that I told Harry I didn’t want to bang him and instinctively I throw old reliable…

‘SHOOOOOOOT!!!’

I stand upright and wave to the crowd (of two). Sharad leans back against the kitchen wall, defeated. I’m in shock. They tell me to grab the knife, that it’s time, but I can’t…my fingers seem to be permanently stuck in the shape of old reliable…

Needless to say the trip was amazing and I owe at least my first 13 children to Brian and Cindy for making it possible. I met some really great people, got a taste of home, killed a pig, cliff jumped, caught my first wave, drank pandolorian blood, learned how to stitch up serious cuts (I am doing my own stitches from here on in), learned some English Creole, danced my ass off, diagnosed at least 100 patients with kidney cancer, swung from vines, and cured one patient with a serious cup of smokey tea.

And although I spent about 42 hours in clinic in a 6 day span, those loonies sure didn’t make it feel like work at all. My words could hardly do any justice to how great of a trip that one was. Most important of all I learned that I will never trust my future children in the hands of a Tufts educated doctor.